


Dreaming of   Dahlias

by If_youve_ever_been_my_friend



Category: The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types
Genre: Artist!Thomas, Life after the Trials, M/M, Mentions of Major Character Death, My first time tagging so I'm sorry, Newt is a character but he isn't there, Post-The Death Cure, Sadness, The Death Cure Spoilers, Thomas is depressed, much sadness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-31
Updated: 2015-04-06
Packaged: 2018-03-20 14:53:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3654528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/If_youve_ever_been_my_friend/pseuds/If_youve_ever_been_my_friend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thomas is trying to keep living after the Trials, but is plagued by night terrors and insomnia. He misses Newt a lot. I can't tag or write summaries so I apologize... you should read it though...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fic I'm posting on ao3, so I'm a bit nervous... I also apologize that it may be a bit short as I am working on an iPhone and lots of text is difficult to manage. Grammar is important to me so please point out any mistakes! Anyway, I hope you enjoy it.

  It was over; it was all over. Thomas just couldn't let himself forget that. As realistic as the dreams were, they weren't on par with being stung by a Greiver: sometimes he swore they hurt worse.

  Disentangling himself from the sweat-soaked sheets, Thomas rolled off his bed and into a crouched position on the floor. He clutched at his chest, his face an image of horror and pain, shining with tears. Not that anyone was around to see him. 

  As he slowly stood up, he squinted at his clock, early morning light assaulting his eyes. 6:15. Better than waking at 4:30 and being unable to cry himself back to sleep as he had been these last few weeks. He wished he could laugh at his situation: he finally had a safe place to sleep and yet he was plagued by insomnia. Smiling despite the ache in his chest, he whispered a greeting to the picture taped to his mirror.

  "Morning, Newtie."

§§§

  Feeling much better with a cup of tea in him, Thomas decided to head down to the garden. Normally in an apartment you wouldn't be allowed a garden, but once he explained his situation to his sympathetic and elderly landlady, she gladly gave him the back lot. She was "tired of looking at the dirt all the time anyway, dear."

  Newt used to love gardening.

  He walked slowly past the peas and strawberries, caressing their leaves with care, relishing the smell of damp earth. It must've rained last night, but the sun was out now. Thomas allowed himself to bask for a moment before remembering how much Newt loved the clean smell after rain. The garden smell very clean.

  He shook away the thought. No sense in dwelling, right? Moving on from that patch, he meandered over towards the flowers and sat in the dirt between the roses and daisies. The cosmos flowers were just coming up, surrounded by healthy crocuses to his right. He was still waiting on the dahlias, though. Dahlias were Newt's favorite.

  Thomas remembered Newt cultivating dahlias when he arrived in the Glade. He had then in big pots and was trying to decide whether to transplant them into the ground or not. He never decided.

  Thomas turned to glare at the slow-blooming dahlias, their 6 inch stems tied to stakes to his left. He thought absently that they should be blooming in a month or two. On the closest stake was another picture of Newt, the same one as in his bedroom.

  "I can't believe it's been almost a year," he murmured, reaching out to touch the picture.

  Thomas knew Newt wouldn't have wanted to live as a Crank, but that could never justify what happened. His Newtie was gone forever and it was his choice. With that thought, he decided to go for a walk, leave behind his pictures of Newt for a while.

  "Time for me to stop with the negativity, huh, Newtie?"

§§§

  He wanted to go for a different walk than he had been lately, but he also knew he wouldn't. He didn't ever change his routine unless he was feeling "inspired." Thomas paid his low rent with his art, which consisted mostly of sketches and prints, almost all featuring dahlias as their centerpiece. He hasn't drawn or painted anything since the dreams started. Despite the warm weather, Thomas was cold and devoid of happiness as he thought of his "hobby," as Minho so lovingly referred to it. Before he stopped talking to Minho.

  The deserted road Thomas was taking gave him far too much time to think. Avoiding thoughts of his dead boyfriend, murdered lover, was becoming an increasingly difficult task.

 Finally he reached his destination, golden light washing over his trembling figure. The cliff looked over sparkling waves and put him equal to the diving gulls. As Thomas sat down, feet dangling, he couldn't help but think that Newt would've loved this place.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short thing, as usual.

There was no dignity it in. It had been screaming and clawing, spit flying. The Flare had taken everything from Newt, couldn't even grant him a goodbye. Thomas couldn't stand to relive it.

And yet he did. 

Night after night, death after death. Impact of bullet crunching through bone after impact. It was driving Thomas insane. 

Tonight's was one of the worst. He dreamt they were in the Glade again, running from the Grievers together, so close to making it out. Alive. 

Suddenly, Thomas had Newt against the wall, gun from god knows where pressed against his head.

"Do it, Tommy," Newt croaked. "We both know I'm not making it out of here, anyway. Just... Do it." His voice trailed off into a whisper as he resigned himself farther fate he had just sentenced himself to. 

Newt grasped at Thomas's back, pulling him closer and looking into his eyes, his heart, searching him with those big brown doe eyes. Then Newt was kissing him, soft and sweet, lips moving against Thomas's like a promise. He was reminded of their first kiss, on that very first night, the taste of fear and alcohol shared between them. 

"Just let me go." He was crying now. This is nothing like when it happened for real, but it hurts all the same. 

The sound of the shot ringing in his ears woke Thomas, a horrible ache in his chest. The worst was when he dreamt of Newt kissing him. He missed those sweet kisses so much. Newt's absence from him felt like an amputated limb or a hole in his chest: he would never truly adjust. 

This kind of pain is the pain you never heal from. He often dreamt of murdering Newt in circumstances other than what it had been. He dreamt that Newt was begging him to stop, begging for his life. But Thomas would always kill him in the end. Because he chose to. It was his fault, all of it, and it always had been. Newt had said so himself.

Thomas had killed the only person he could ever trust, and he might as well have killed himself. 

**Author's Note:**

> More chapters should be up soon!


End file.
